


Loving Him Was Red

by Superhusbandsfamily



Series: Flashbacks And Echoes [1]
Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Currently being revamped/rewritten/revised 2016, Domestic Avengers, F/M, Gen, M/M, Marvel Comics + Cinematic Universe, Stony - Freeform, Superfamily, Superhusbands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-22 01:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superhusbandsfamily/pseuds/Superhusbandsfamily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Variant 1<br/>Smiling, he bent forwards and left a kiss on the boy’s forehead. “Goodnight, Peter,” he hushed and watched as Peter closed his eyes. He stayed by his side till Peter’s chest slowly rose and fell rhythmically before making a move. As he lay looking at his son, he believed he would finally fall asleep too. Feeling himself fade away, he whispered, “Goodnight, Tony.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

 

 

> **_The skies were gloomy, overflowing with dark clouds. Rubble enclosed the roads, every side walk and back lane. Buildings were in ruins; windows smashed inwards and out, shards of glass covered the floors as walls crumbled to the ground..._ **

_Sleep._

       Lying in bed, he glared at the ceiling with belief that if he stared at it long enough, it would come collapsing down. He wouldn’t then have to explain why he couldn’t shake off feeling the way he did. Most nights began with him flopping his tired self onto the cold mattress, knowing fitfully and harshly that the decent into dreams would come eventually. Later to find he was too exhausted to actually do so.

       A susurrant breeze blew through the opened window and streetlights invaded the gloom, fashioning shadows of distant trees against the walls around him. It granted him the irony of an awry perception; tracking through a forest maze as its branches sealed his only exit. He earned the rest, but his mind naggingly disagreed.

       The room was too quiet. He could hear himself breathe, heartbeat pounding softly in time. Meeting the radiating glow of the clock by his bedside, the sheets rustled under him. **02:58** , has it only been fifteen minutes?

> As he had imagined, it went according to plan, which needless to say, wasn’t well at all. There was a lot of fussing about that had to be mediated and controlled. Voices were raised and whispers were hushed, but somehow, they made it there in one piece. A year was far too long, and the guilt he had buried were washed to the surface. He concentrated on the smell of flowers and dirt beneath their feet as he guided them through a worn path. In newly pressed shirts, they stood before grey-stone with bowed heads and silent wishes.
> 
> Cameras flashed in the distance. No one realised how easy it was to spin a story. With a little green motivation, sorrow was hate, and grief was regret. A futurist stood up for the World, only to have it stab him in the back. He deserved better. The line between truths and lies were blurred, mangled and tortured to a point where acceptance was the only route. Old wounds weren’t healed, and they were the ones rubbing the salt.
> 
> He wiped away tears that were never his own, and gave in to the squirms and protest. Letting go of the last bit of joy left in his life, and watching it jump into the arms of another. Apologies tore them apart. And promises…well…
> 
> He was soon bidding all who attended a goodbye, and condolences were sent back his way. Not too long ago, he would have said, “Thanks. We’re fine.” But today, he could only manage an, “Okay.”

       He took deep breaths, steadying a rhythm before trying again as he fought against the thoughts massed in his head. Poignant memories haunting him like yesterday’s news. His eyes were shut so tight, he could see orbs of light floating in barren space. It reminded him of picnics under the stars and the scent of fresh cut grass. Eyes of whiskey that shone in the moonlight, laying in his arms when there were no more kisses left in the night.

       His dampened pillow stuck to his cheeks as he swallowed a sob. Unfamiliar yet welcomed.

_What will I do without you?_

       “You’ll never know,” he mouthed. Words once used to calm the one beside him; words they once wholeheartedly believed were true. 

He _really_ needed to sleep.

He needed to face another tomorrow with a smile on his face, and renowned strength to be brave for them with the title he wore. He needed to push through the longing for warmth and something to hold. A silhouette of blue, imbuing its surroundings and swarming his soul with a familiar hum that was his lullaby. The World needed Captain America, but all Steve needed was _him_ …

 

**03:07** , he gave up and tapped the base of his table lamp, turning it on. Blinking at the sudden brightness, he slipped out of bed and flinched as his feet touched the chilly floor. He dragged them across the room, surprised they obeyed, and made his way out the door. The hallway was lined and lit with miniature lights, or what _he_ used to call them, L.E.Ds?

       It was extensive, but he didn't have to wander far. The room he sought after was just across the hall from his. Being _his_ idea, if anything happened, they would be there in the nick-of-time.

> “What about this one?” he asked as he leaned against the door-frame and pointed inside.
> 
> “You do know that’s the storage room. Where we put your hardware and...junk?”
> 
> “We are storing something anyway, right?”
> 
> He glowered at the other man suspiciously.
> 
> “Just joking, Cap! Look, its close. If you’re really quiet, you’d hear his sleepy little noises.” He beamed a smile making him want to smile too. “I promise it’d be perfect!”
> 
> “Okay...” Finding it difficult to keep the tone of seriousness in his voice, he cleared his throat and straightened himself, “...what about your stuff?”
> 
> “I’ll leave _that_ to you. Heading down to the lab. Gotta start on those schematics.” He gave him a peck on the cheek and flashed an even bigger grin.
> 
> “Hey-!”
> 
> “Love ya too!” he added before disappearing down the stairs.

       Entering the indigo room with a life of its own, he smiled. Safari animals encircled its walls and a small table sat in the corner covered with colourful building blocks as an army patterned plane hung over it. The sandy doors by the entrance revealed shelves packed with an assortment of toys, various books, and a range of mismatched clothes and shoes.

       The room was small in comparison to the rest of the mansion, but held features much greater than most. Its elaborate windows had been programmed to display a beautiful array of stars and planets. A lot was put into it, and worth every penny.

> “Again with the red and gold?” he asked in disbelieve. “Everything you own are in those shades.”
> 
> “Exactly my point! We might as well do the same here.”
> 
> “But-”
> 
> “Zaffre then? I wouldn’t shine off the walls and scare the little guy,” said the bearded man as he unconsciously rubbed his chest. “We could stick on that border thingy the hardware store was advertising. Oh! And I have this great idea, of course, ‘bout the windows. Bruce and I have been manipulating glass to-”
> 
> “Zaf...what?” he interrupted before having to receive an earful of uninterpretable scientific rambling. “Okay, anything you want,” he said in defeat. “Just as long as you clean up after yourself this time.” Wrapping his arms around the other’s waist, he rested his chin on the dip of his shoulder.
> 
> “ _Make me_.” He turned around and grinned onto his lips after giving him a chaste kiss.

       He took a moment to appreciate its magnificence, a piece of art as perfect as its inventor. Opposite the doorway was a minute version of his russet California king; too small to comfortably fit neither a grown man nor a ten year old child. The bed was cot-like with “mechanical barriers” at its side that _he_ had insisted on inventing.

> “What’re you doing now? I just small talked a training potty!” he yelled over the blasting rock music and heavy machinery.
> 
> “You’ve met ‘Putty’ then?” He placed the power-saw on the bench beside him and snapped his fingers, turning the volume down. “That’s how he pronounces it by the way. Wasn’t it neat? I’m doing the bed next. This...” he said, patting some sort of metal rod, “...is so he doesn’t fall off it.”
> 
> “Bars? Isn’t the whole point of switching him to a regular bed is so he can _learn_ to not fall off?” he asked with a sigh.
> 
> “It’s a safety-rail! Every kid has one. Now he never has to _learn_ ‘cause he’d never fall.”
> 
> “That's-”
> 
> “ _Genius_ , I know! We have to meet the person who came up with this. Pep suggested SI start a new line of tech, and baby products’ an excellent investment. With my additional configurations, think of all the possibilities! Self-sterilising bottles with built-in temperature sensors, holographic super-nannies, automatic changing tables...”
> 
> “You should be used to changing diapers by now,” he teased as the futurist’s true agenda behind his endless flow of ideas laid bare.
> 
> “ _Nooooo_...I won’t have to be! Keep up! See, the thing about techno-” The baby monitor flickered on and wailing echoed through the laboratory. “He _knows_ doesn’t he? My kid’s freakin’ Einstein!”
> 
> “Language! And stop stalling, it’s your turn, _genius_ ,” he grinned, ushering the other up the stairs.

       Kneeling beside the bed, he pushed a hidden button at its side and waited as the rail slid down, disappearing underneath. He gently brushed his fingers through the messy dark brown mob of the sleeping child. Curled up beneath striped-red sheets, the little one’s hazel eyes were tightly shut. His little fists were balled by his face as he hung onto a blue blanket. Marvelling at how at peace the toddler was, everything felt right. He bundled the boy up and held him close. The restless tyke stirred as he made way back to his bedroom, but only to snugly settle himself in his arms, not wake.

       Still lit by the lamp, he allowed his eyes to dance around the room. A study desk was placed in a corner while an easel, with an unfinished painting attached, stood in another gathering dust. The bed in the centre was accompanied by two mahogany side-tables and contemporary lightings. There were wooden panels leading to walk-in wardrobes with a couple of shelves mounted beside it to accommodate diverse framed pictures.

       He slowly lowered the child onto the bed and tucked him in. With the light tapped off, he walked over to his side but was stopped by a diminutive, sleepy voice that asked, “Daddy?” 

> It was past midnight when he woke, but wasn't surprised to see the space beside him still empty. He got up and gradually paced to the nursery. There was something expected before him. So as silent as he could be, he tarried by the doorway and watched as a man rocked in a chair, cradling an infant.
> 
> The baby had trouble sleeping when they brought him home and every night since then, he would hold him in his arms. Warmth from his body and the hum of the reactor were the only things that soothed the child.
> 
> The boy was eventually able to sleep through the night on his own, but the man had insisted he didn’t. Realising it was an excuse to have the kid fall asleep on his chest, he never argued and never would. He just watched and treasured and smiled, and went back to bed.

       Facing its source, he retraced his steps and stooped by the toddler goggling at him. “No buddy, it’s just me,” he said, running his hand through the child’s downy hair while masking disappointment when the youngster’s expression faltered. “Nothing’s wrong. Go back to sleep.”

       The kid rubbed an eye with his knuckles and seemingly accepted what he was being told. “Okay Papa, goodnight,” he yawned.

       Smiling, he bent forwards and left a kiss on the boy’s forehead. “Goodnight, Peter,” he hushed and watched as Peter closed his eyes. He stayed by his side till Peter’s chest slowly rose and fell rhythmically before making a move. As he lay looking at his son, he believed he would _finally_ fall asleep too. Feeling himself fade away, he whispered, “Goodnight, Tony.”


	2. The Life

> **_Car alarms went off. People were screaming for their loved ones with paramedics rushing to their aid. Children cried in the arms of strangers as they were carried to safety. Some scrambled to their feet while others lent a helping hand. Policemen barked orders and guided as many as they could to areas of shelter..._ **

       He wondered how his insomniac-self managed waking up every day knowing he would be facing the invariable. Watery confused eyes, staring up at him as that little mouth formed the question he dreaded to hear.

       Sometimes he amazed himself. He would never understand how he kept his cool when all he wanted to do was run and ignore the child’s pleas. Taking a seat beside him, he placed his hand on Peter’s knee and sighed.

       He should be an expert by now, but it still stabbed at him. The way his son was filled with hope scraping the skies, he just couldn’t find the right words. So, he said what he had always, grateful Tony insisted on family nights. “Remember what I told you, buddy? Daddy’s not coming back. He’s with Mufasa now.”

> “Steve!” Tony yelled for him. “Hurry up! It’s starting!”
> 
> He was busy writing up a report from the day’s mission Fury wanted in the morning. Although he had gotten pretty good at typing, he voluntarily wanted to do it by hand. There was something refined about having it in script, but it was getting late and wished he had chosen otherwise. “You guys go ahead!” he hollered in reply. “I’ll join you when I’m done.”
> 
> It was a Wednesday and ‘Wednesdays were movie nights’ as Tony so often declared. He really didn’t see the point in re-watching cartoons over and over again, even if Peter enjoyed them. The kid just never got bored of the same moving pictures. He preferred if Peter spent his time learning to read than staring at a screen all day.
> 
> His son gurgled excitedly behind him and he looked up from the desk in time to see Peter at the animated lions. Peter was enthusiastically bouncing on Tony’s lap as his Daddy laughed along, telling him tales of Africa. He smiled amusingly when Peter started giggling. It wasn’t as if their year old son understood, but there he was, delighted at the sound of his father’s voice.
> 
> It was the only night Tony had off and Steve has never seen him more content. No cell phones, emails or Pepper, even JARVIS couldn’t prompt him with urgent matters. Upon his life would the man admit it, but Steve knew moments like these meant a lot. Tony didn’t grow up in a healthy nor functional family. He just wanted Peter to have what he had been missing.
> 
> Steve put down his pen and ended up slouching down on the couch beside them. Tony gave him a kiss while scooting Peter across so he could reach for the bowl of popcorn. Balancing Peter on his knee, he began pointing at the television too.
> 
> Fury could wait.

       He expected the usual chorus of ‘why?’s to follow, but they never came. Peter hopped off the bed, and looking as serious as four year old could muster, he said, “Okay, Papa.”

       With that, Peter left for his room.

> “I’m not my father,” mumbled Tony as he minimised the morning news holograph.
> 
> “What?” he asked behind the sports section, scooping another spoon full of cereal into his mouth. When Tony stayed silent, he folded the newspaper away. “Tony?”
> 
> Tony played with the scraps of eggs left on his plate before prying his eyes off them to face him. “I’m not my father,” he repeated.
> 
> “I know that. Why’re-?”
> 
> “I’m better than him. That’s what you always tell me,” he said, cutting Steve short and furrowing his brows. “I think I can do it.”
> 
> His mind raced at all the possibilities Tony were proposing.
> 
> Tony reached across the island, dark-hazel eyes not leaving the deep-blues of Steve’s as he took his hand.  “I want to be the father mine never was. We’ll be great parents,” Tony explained in a breath and waited for him to express signs of acknowledgement.
> 
> Ignoring the goofy grin spreading across his face, he stood up and pulled Tony off his stool, wrapping his arms around him. “Yes, we will.” 

       Steve stood up and watched his son shut the door behind him. He was stunned. When he eventually regained his senses, he decided it was best to leave Peter time to himself.

       Dawn streamed in through the blinds, highlighting the room. He tossed his clothes into the basket by the bathroom only to have them fall out, joining the heap of laundry at its base. Sighing, he made a mental note to do some cleaning. 

       He unwound under the shower and allowed the scalding water to burn at his skin, hoping it would wash away the appalling events in his life.

> “You’re going to get yourself killed!” he bawled his torment.
> 
> “I’ve already calculated that possibility. My plan is sound, Steve. Give me some credit!”  Tony yelled back, drying his hair with a towel. “It’ll work. It’ll be over soon.”
> 
> “And it’ll end with you lying unconscious in a pool of your own blood.”
> 
> “It was just that one time! You saved me, I’m fine, and so is America.”
> 
> He got off the bed and grabbed Tony’s arm as he walked past. “What if I can’t? What if your crazed suicidal mission backfires?” he asked acrimoniously. “Someone _needs_ you now, and I don’t mean me.”
> 
> Not wanting an answer, he stormed to the gym.

       Peter’s door was still closed when he was done. Standing at his doorway, he frowned and felt for the circular band resting on his chest. He headed towards the wardrobe, damp towel around his waist, and scorned at his duds. A soldier shouldn't have to choose his attire. It was such a chore. He slid the translucent door shut and turned around to slide another open.

> “What d’ya think?” Tony asked, arms stretched wide. “Incredible? Amazing as always?”
> 
> “Well...” he started as he straighten Tony’s bow-tie. “I think you look dashing.”
> 
> “Dashing? That what they say back in the day?”
> 
> He huffed a laugh. “Only if they looked like you.”
> 
> “Aww...you’re not too bad yourself.” Tony ran a hand down the matching suit he wore. Tony was beaming and Steve felt a rush in his cheeks.
> 
> He gave Tony a quick kiss but it was deepened and he leaned in. Tony’s intoxicating kisses could make one lose all thought, but he wasn’t going to submit to its charm. Pushing him back gently, Steve broke the spell before they had to get dressed again. “We’re running late. You know the party doesn’t start without Tony Stark,” he smiled and headed for the door, pausing when Tony didn’t follow.
> 
> “Rogers.”
> 
> “Hmm?” Steve glanced back at him.
> 
> “No. I mean, Tony Stark-Rogers.”
> 
> “Really?” He was honestly very surprised. The last time the topic arose, Tony ranted on about vexatious document signing and Pepper breathing down their necks.
> 
> “It’s got a nice ring to it. Tony Stark-Rogers.” Tony extended a hand horizontally through the space in front of him and grinned.
> 
> The corners of his mouth replicated it as he teased, “Not Rogers-Stark?”
> 
> “Now you’re pushing it, Cap!”
> 
> He chortled. Nothing could describe how much he loved the man. So, he just smiled and slung an arm around Tony’s as they made their way to the hall where people awaited them.

       He reached in and trailed his hands along the sleeves of a well-tailored tuxedo hanging amongst many others. On impulse, he unhooked it and brought its collar to his nose, breathing in the faint yet recognizable scent of aftershave and cologne.

       His eyes began to sting, but he blinked back the tears. It had become a part of his daily routine and it wasn’t right. He placed the tux back where it belonged. Grabbing Tony’s Black Sabbath t-shirt off the shelf, music he learned to appreciate over the years, he threw on with a pair of grey sweatpants to go with it.

       He walked to Peter’s room. Unable to dismiss his habit of being polite, he gave the door a tap before entering. Peter was kneeling in the corner, building with his wooden blocks. Pieces of drawing paper were scattered around with doodles of similar kind. He seemed so engrossed in his work, that it was times like these Steve saw so much of Tony in him.

       Ambitious and eager to finish whatever project they had, giving it their undivided attention. They were in their own little Universe where perfection was the key. From the way he was good with his hands, to smiles brightening any room, to his intense brown eyes, curious and full of wonder, Peter was his father’s son.

       If only Tony could see him grow and ramble about cars and machines. Watching a teenage version of his spend hours in the laboratory inventing with his father were craved moments. He heaved a sigh as he stooped by Peter, dropping a kiss on his forehead and ruffling his hair.

> “Look, Papa! Look!” Peter shouted gleefully as he bounded over with a rolled up sheet of paper at hand. He shoved it onto Steve’s chest and started straightening it out. “Daddy teach me blu-pin!”
> 
> “What’s this?” He smiled at Peter’s vocabulary and placed the S.H.I.E.L.D. file away, picking up the A4 covered in coloured scribbles instead. “It’s very nice, Peter.”
> 
> “Daddy bill bot! I help!” Peter squealed and pointed at a purple square before yanking it off Steve. “For you, Papa,” he said, crushing it into Steve’s hands. He then leaped off the couch and went in the direction he came, leaving his father very puzzled.
> 
> Tony’s guffaw echoed behind as he trailed after their son.

       “Hey, Pete. What’re you up to?” he asked while leaning forward to get a better look at Peter’s scribbles, but the boy hid them behind his back, not saying a word. He kept his smile on, albeit Peter’s actions hurt more than being shot in the field. “More blueprints? You building something?” He attempted again but Peter continued to ignore him.

       He hesitated when closing Peter’s door, but opted to get breakfast going, or maybe even the laundry done. There wasn’t any point in moping around. Eventually choosing the former, he headed for the kitchen.

       “There seems to be someone at the gate, Sir,” JARVIS suddenly reported, causing Steve to drop the piece of toast he was buttering on the cream-tiled floor, and why did it always have to land buttered-side down?

       To say that he should be used to the artificial intelligence after all these years was an understatement. Not long after that, the doorbell rang. He took another look at the toast on the ground before facing the ceiling with the blunt knife still in his hand, asking, “Morning, JARVIS. Who is it?”

> “Oh, dear God,” he blurted when Tony’s computer spoke all of a sudden. He was sitting at his easel in Tony’s basement laboratory, trying to figure out which colours to mix next, when Tony asked him a question, at least he had thought it  was directed towards him seeing as no one else was in the room, but then Tony’s...AI started answering. That actually made more sense since he didn’t get a single word Tony was referring to.
> 
> “Did the Captain just swear?” Tony asked, highly amused. “He did, didn’t he? You caught that on tape, JARVIS? It’s a once in a lifetime!”
> 
> “Cut it out, Tony. It’s no big deal. I just haven’t gotten used to...umm...JARVIS yet,” he said, embarrassed and ashamed. He never swore, especially not blasphemy. He flinched every time someone did so, openly in the streets. He really wondered how he was ever going to get used to the changes of the modern age. He looked up from his painting and could feel a flush spread across his face when Tony’s eyes fixated on his from the other end of the lab, and he received a welcoming smile.
> 
> He was still caught off guard by the way Tony made him feel. When he was around him, he felt like he was still that scrawny kid in the back-alleys of Brooklyn; too afraid to ask the ladies to dance. Being with him, he wasn’t Captain America. He didn’t have to put on a mask. He could be who he really was, but at times like these, he wished he had some a pinch of that superhero confidence. He had never been in love, but he was pretty sure that this was what it felt like.
> 
> “Woah, enough with the staring competition, Steve. You win! I’ll delete the recording, alright?” Tony exclaimed, holding his hands up in defeat, before pushing one of the million buttons on his screens, which was Steve’s reality slap. “Now, back to...whatever it was you were doing.”
> 
> He sighed, picking up his fine brush, and went with plain green. Courage, Steve, you’ve definitely lost it.

       He swore he could hear the silent humour in the AI’s pause before it answered, “Just agents Barton and Romanov, Sir, and a very good morning to you.” Now he could assure himself that he heard that familiar sarcasm, albeit JARVIS said nothing more.     

       “Let them in, thanks,” he said, exhaling; he wasn’t expecting visitors, neither did he want any. He picked up the bread, grabbed a grubby cloth off the marble counter top, and started wiping at the grease on the floor, only to find himself spreading it further. Giving up, he tossed the toast into the bulky, golden rubbish-bin, and the cloth and knife into the robust sink respectively. When he was done washing up, there was a distinct beep and soon he took notice of the footsteps approaching.

       “Hey, Cap! What’s up, man?” Clint’s voice boomed through the kitchen as he entered and patted him on the back. He laid his holstered gun and car keys on the island before taking a seat on one of its burgundy stools.          

       “Good morning, Steve,” Natasha wished him, following closely behind. She gave Steve a small smile and a quick hug before doing the same, making herself at home, and sitting beside Clint. “Sorry for coming unannounced.”

       They sat, perched up on the stools with their arms crossed on the surface in front of them, very professional-like, staring at him. It took him a moment to realise that he should say something, besides the phrase _please leave_ that kept appearing in his mind. “Uh...its fine...and not that I mind the company, but what are you two doing here?” He asked as he closed the distance between them, hoping he didn’t sound as ill-mannered as his thoughts.

       “We just dropped by to say ‘hi’, and to see how you and Pete were doing. Speaking of which, where is the little rascal?” Clint rushed through the question, springing off his seat while calling out for Peter and bounding up the stairs before Steve could reply. He didn’t bother stopping him; he just looked on in amazement at how much energy the man always seemed to have.

       He sighed and turned around with the intention of offering Natasha some breakfast, only to find himself meeting her fierce gaze. She was watching him; maybe _studying_ him would have been a better word to describe the way her eyes darted all over, picking up on every little thing from the twitch of his fingers to the slight quiver in his upper lip. He felt akin to one of her targets on missions, which wasn’t usually a good sign.

       “Umm...Tash? You’re doing that thing ag...” he began but stopped when he heard his son excitedly shriek, “Uncle Clint! Look at what I’m building! Isn’t it cool?” and the muffled sounds from Clint being guided into the boy’s room with the door slamming shut behind them. Steve winced, listening to them bond and giggle, feeling his heart sink, as he slummed down into a stool nearby. He regretted it immediately when Natasha reached across and placed a hand over his, rubbing it gently, looking at him with a mixture of worry and pity painted on her face.

       He told himself awhile back that it was what he had to deal with; that it was simply human nature, yet he prayed he wouldn’t need to see it. The sympathy in people’s eyes when they told him how sorry they were, or when they said they understood how he felt and apologized some more. He was Captain America, a respectable figure of freedom, unity and peace, people looked up to him. The last thing he wanted was for them to start judging him again; to begin stating that he wasn’t a fit leader and that he wasn’t what he believed he was to be anymore.

> In the wake of a tragedy at Stamford, the United States Government proposed a Superhuman Registration Act, intending to register all super-powered beings as living weapons of mass destruction and requiring all costumed heroes to unmask and subject themselves to federally mandated standards.
> 
> The prospect of registration divided the superhuman community down the middle, the pro-registration and anti-registration groups. Tony Stark aka Iron Man, who had previously tried to halt the act, became the pro-registration figurehead, while he, Steve Rogers aka Captain America, led the other. He rebelled, believing his actions could be justified.
> 
> This was the dawn of a Civil War; a mighty battle between superheroes the people had once looked up to, where the citizens knew what was imminent when they didn’t. It was a war that would lead to nothing more than death, chaos and destruction. They were right, and he was the cause of it.
> 
> When it was over, there were novel beginnings, yet it was too late for things to return to the way it once was.

       The worst part had to be pretending that everything was alright; that he was still the same man people knew and trusted, but if he was being honest with himself, he would have fled the country and gotten a new identity a long time ago, because that was all he could think of doing in the past months, but no matter how much he wanted it, he knew he couldn’t. He had responsibilities to uphold for his country, its people, his family and the person he loved.

       He still had the urge to tell them every now and then, that they were wrong because they couldn’t possibly know how he felt. They didn’t have the whole world resting on their shoulders, a whole nation under their protection; neither did they have a toddler back home who needed answers; a scared, little boy who wouldn’t talk to him but required his attention; a child who just couldn’t understand why his Daddy wasn’t coming home. He was tired of the life he had to withstand to keep up with appearances, and could only guess how long he could hold himself together before he lost it.

       He looked into her pale green eyes and groaned because now she knew what he had been burying. She was always good at that, reading people like an opened book, discovering them inside and out. It was impossible to hide anything from her. She smiled at him and nodded, indicating that he would be fine and that she was here for him if he ever needed her. The Black Widow had never been one for words, so he understood and appreciated the slight gesture.

       He then shifted his gaze to her hand atop his and noticed the brilliant glint from the beautiful stone on her finger. It wasn’t as huge or spectacular as some may expect; it was actually pretty simple, not much detail put into it, and from afar, it looked like someone had just randomly decided to set a diamond on a silver loop, but he knew how much more it meant to her; to them, to have gotten this far in their relationship, and that made the ring utterly magnificent. “I see ‘congratulations’ are in order,” he said, surprised by how fast a smile formed on his face, getting up and giving her a hug. “When’s the big day?”

       “Umm...sometime in spring, and thanks,” Natasha replied, sitting awkwardly in her seat and repositioning herself before returning the embrace. “Really, Steve, I have _you_ to thank for this. We wouldn’t have crossed that line if it wasn’t for you. So, thank you,” she said sincerely and gave him one of her rare smiles.

> “Hell, I say just go for it, Clint!” Tony blurted out one evening while cleaning up after dinner with the team. “Give it time and everything will fall in line, you know that kinda thing. You won’t know unless you give it a go?”
> 
> It had been a very long day; they had been getting ready since the wee hours of the morning. Janet and Pepper stopped by a little earlier than the rest to help out but when one was having a Thor, a Hulk and a Thing over for a meal, one had to prepare ridiculously massive amounts of food. So, he guessed he couldn’t blame him too much for totally ditching the plan.
> 
> They discussed it the night before, like a couple of teenage fanboys, about how Clint and Natasha were meant to be together, although they themselves didn’t know or simply couldn’t bear to admit it. It was Tony’s idea, because Steve just thought they really shouldn’t be interfering with such affairs and that it was probably rude, but when Tony said, “I just want them to have what we do”, he caved.
> 
> They planned to interrogate Clint first and knock some sense into him before attempting the same with Tasha. They had already wisely chosen a colourful string of  words and had a whole script memorised in their heads, consequently, this was definitely not what he had in mind, but Tony was tired and possibly running out of caffeine, therefore, he tried to be understanding while hoping that this might actually work.
> 
> “I don’t get what you’re suggest...” Clint began but Tony cut him off mid-sentence by passing him a plate to dry.
> 
> “You two were dancing around each other the whole night! Being polite; you kept flirting and she kept giggling at your jokes that clearly only she found funny. It’s cute and all but don’t you think we’ve all had enough?”
> 
> “I still have no idea what you’re talking about, Tony,” Clint said but Steve could see the faint blush slowly filling the Hawk’s cheeks as he placed some wine glasses back on their racks. He bit his lower lip to stop himself from laughing and was glad that no one else was in the kitchen. There was a racquet coming from the living room though that he thought he ought to check out, but he was too engrossed in this chapter of life unfolding before him to be bothered by it.
> 
> “Stop denying! We can all see it and you do to! You’re a goddamn spy, so don’t you dare tell me you don’t! This isn’t the world’s most difficult code to crack. If you really want me to spell it out I will! And then I’d need a word with Fury ‘cause he’d need to recruit new agents. The ones he has already don’t seem to know what’s right in front of them!”
> 
> Clint shut the overhead cabinet door and looked at Tony with his ocean-blue eyes, giving him one of those expressionless and unreadable ‘resting faces’ he had before tossing the kitchen towel on the counter, and sighed, breaking his well composed posture. “Yea you’re right. I run into unimaginable things every day, but when it comes down to this...heh...I’m a coward,” he admitted, wiping a hand across his face. “I don’t know what to do. I mean, after Budapest, everything went downhill...I guess I just...”
> 
> “She loves you, man, that I can guarantee,” Tony gave him a light thump on the back. “Someone has to make the first move before its too late, trust me, I speak from experience,” he encouraged as he turned to Steve, giving him a small smile.
> 
> Before they knew it, the cheers outside swelled to a roar, accompanied by thunderous clapping, as Clint ran up to Natasha, caressing her, and kissing her senseless in the middle of the hall. She was taken aback at first but eventually deepened the overdue affection. They only stopped when somebody yelled, “Get a room!” laughing and slightly embarrassed but the look they then shared was invaluable.
> 
> Back in the kitchen, he and Tony watched in silence with enormous grins plastered on their faces. “I think we succeeded,” said Tony as he draped an arm around Steve’s waist, pulling him closer.
> 
> “No, you did,” he said proudly, laying a kiss on the side of the shorter man’s head and silently wishing the pair all the best.           

       He returned it wearily, saying, “It’s not me you should be thanking.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “But I am truly happy for the two of you,” he continued, trying to sound a little brighter and enthusiastic, when he heard the duo upstairs again and thought he would probably never be able to recover his heart from its depths, ever. “He doesn’t even want to talk to me anymore,” he unintentionally mumbled.

       “Hmm? Sorry, didn’t get that,” she said, watching him with vast interest once more.

       “Peter asks me everyday where Tony is, and I’ll try to explain, but then he’d start asking a whole bunch of questions; ‘when is Daddy coming home?’, ‘what happened to Daddy?’, ‘why is Daddy not coming back anymore?’ He can go on and on if I don’t change the subject. It’s been the same routine, every morning and night, since...but today...today he just said ‘okay’, and then he stopped acknowledging my presence,” he elaborated, placing himself back on a stool. “What does that mean? What am I supposed to do?”

       “Maybe he finally understands? Maybe he’s accepted that Tony’s...gone.”

       “He’s four Tash, I really don’t think that’s it. Even I...” he trailed off, standing up again and began pacing back and forth the length of the island. “And that doesn’t explain why he won’t talk to me. Maybe he blames me. Maybe he thinks it’s my fault.” He was suddenly hit with a wave of realisation and stopped, saying, “He’s not wrong there, it is my fault Tony’s...”

       “Don’t do that to yourself, Steve. You know it wasn’t you, it was the job,” Natasha said sternly before giving him a warm smile. “Peter’s a smart child; he’ll tell you whatever it is when he’s ready.”

       Just as he was going to argue his point, there was another chorus of laughter from the people upstairs and decided he needed to leave. “Hey, you know what, maybe you’re right. Thanks for that,” he said, ending the conversation and heading out towards the hallway. “Do you mind watching him? Would like to go for a jog, if that’s okay,” he asked, anticipating a little fresh air to clear his head.

       “Umm...yea, sure, take your time,” Natasha replied, eyes following him as he grabbed his tan sneakers from the shoe-cupboard before pacing back to get his keys off the table in the foyer.

       He slipped on the shoes and pocketed the bunch of keys and paused, turning towards the kitchen. “Peter...Pete hasn’t had his breakfast yet, so if you could maybe..?”

       “I’ll make sure he gets some, don’t worry about it,” she said, emerging behind the opaque sliding panel that separated the kitchen from the living room.  

       “Thanks Tash, I won’t be long.” With that, he disappeared out the front door and was instantly flooded with relief. 


	3. The Vow

> **_A mother wrapped in blankets mourned the loss of her husband and child. Rebellious teenagers took the opportunity, looting in various shops. The park to was covered in uprooted trees and impact craters. Once clean and clear, the pond was mucky, hinting no signs of life..._ **

       He had thought a simple jog would clear his mind; the sound of cars passing by, families at the park, dogs barking at cyclists, the cool breeze blowing through his hair as the warm summer sun shone down on him; but after a round or two of the neighbourhood, he journeyed back home. He decided against budging in and stood outside the wide front door instead, taking a peek in through the side window. He saw Peter and Clint at the dining table having breakfast as Natasha scooped more of what looked like eggs onto their plates. They looked so much like a normal family with an apple-pie life, and it pained him.

       He walked off the timber-floored porch, making sure it didn’t creek under his steps and catch the attention of the highly trained spies inside, and headed for the back. He tried to be as silent as possible; opening and entering the garage swiftly, hoping none of the people in the mansion had heard him. He hurried towards the end, ignoring the various forgotten automobiles he passed, to a dark figure draped with a dirty old cloth, and flung it off, filling the air with dust and dirt. He held his breath and struggled to keep himself from sneezing.

       He took in the sight of the object he had just revealed before him; its beauty was beyond words. It had a classic bronze finish with black leather seats, spotless headlights and perfectly polished rims. He couldn’t help but take a pause in his plans to admire its elegance. He ran a hand along its gleaming body and wondered how he could have abandoned it for so long, leaving it to rot in the Godforsaken, stuffy basement.

       Snapping back to reality, he grabbed its keys off the hook beside it and pushed it out the garage carefully till he was off the driveway and on the main road, before hopping on and riding off with the intention of never stopping, getting as far away as he could.

> “Hey, since you won’t even let me near the cars, can I have the Bridgestone?” he asked wearily as he stepped into the workshop.
> 
> “What? My 1967 Bridgestone? My baby?” Tony questioned from under the Volvo, stunned, huffing a laugh. “The one I keep in the special case at the back? The one that I modified to be the bike?” he continued when Steve showed no signs of getting in on his joke.
> 
> “Umm...yeah?”
> 
> He rolled out on his creeper and stood up in an instant, mouth trying to form the right words and not just scream in horror. “Now why would I do that, Cap?”
> 
> “Because I...I’d need a ride,” he said as he looked down, watching his foot create senseless patterns with the grease on the floor.
> 
> “If you need to get anywhere, you know you can take Happy anytime, right? He’d be more than, well, happy to give you a lift.”
> 
> “Heh...no...not this time...” He could feel the corners of his mouth quirking up momentarily before fading in an instant when he met Tony’s intense sepias.
> 
> “Spit it out, Cap, not everyone has the privilege of spending sixty years in ice,” Tony smiled as he wiped the grease off his hands and turned to face him, curious.
> 
> “I’m saying yes, so I need a ride if...if we’re doing this,” he blurted, looking down again, suddenly finding his shoes the most interesting thing in the world.
> 
> “Yes? Yes to..?” Tony asked, confused, trying to read the withdrawn man in front of him that was supposed to have nerves of steel; then it hit him and his eyes were flushed with recollection. “Oh...oh, okay. Yea sure, she’s all yours.” Tony beamed brightly and watched as he blushed. “I guess I’ll see you at seven?”
> 
> He nodded and rushed up the stairs, hiding his stupidly big grin.

       The ride from the city to the outskirts of town was refreshing. He didn’t think his bike would be in the shape that it was; he had expected to have to stop to do a little tweaking besides filling her up with gas, grabbing a six pack in the meantime, but amazingly, she glided smoothly on the road. He loved how everything around him just zoomed by in a blur. He was in his own space with not a care in the world; no responsibilities.

       For once he felt like himself again; plain old Steve Rogers focusing on nothing more than getting into art school. Then again, he would still be diminutive and weak and sickly and getting beaten up in alleyways would be his hobby. He wouldn’t have saved all those people during the war; he would be insignificant and he wouldn’t still be here, breathing. He wouldn’t have met Tony; wouldn’t have fallen in love. He would have never known his friends or Peter. Oh God, he couldn’t imagine life without them!

       But if he were still ‘plain ol' Steve Rogers’, Tony may still be alive and well.

       He fumbled with the keys in the ignition, listening as the motor died and rested his head against the handlebars. He needed to stop this endless monologue he had going. It wasn’t the way to live; wasn’t healthy. He got off and started pushing her up the hill ahead till he was almost at the edge of the cliff. He parked the Bridgestone under a familiar tree nearby and allowed his hands and eyes to sweep around the trunk, frantically looking for something.

> The picnic they had was simple yet delicious. The trees around them were getting colourful, showing signs of autumn. The weather was great; sunny but cloudy and they watched the white masses in the sky pass by, trying to figure out the shapes they formed. Out of all the names they came up with, most of them were the monsters and aliens they had fought in the past, although Tony had started coming up with things he would be too embarrassed to repeat.
> 
> They came here often. It was their place. He loved it here, just lying on the grass, relaxing  under the huge, and possibly centuries’ old oak tree, listening to Tony blabber away about some new experiment, or when they would be silent and stare into each others’ eyes, letting time go by. 
> 
> He was finishing up the last bit of champagne in his glass and flicking off the crumbs from his fingers when Tony suddenly whipped out a pocket knife and pointed it at him. He dropped the glass and held up his hands in surrender. He was bewildered as he asked, “Woah...Tony! What’re you doing?”
> 
> Tony chuckled and Steve believed he was going mad until Tony placed the knife on the chequered blanket, took his hands in his own, and brought them down to an acceptable level. Tony just held him and looked right at him, giving him one of the biggest smiles he had ever seen. “Chill Steve, it’s alright,” Tony said, laughing now at Steve’s confounded expression. “Why would I hurt you?”
> 
> Steve thought that given their history, it was best not answer that; it was probably rhetorical anyway. “Why do you even have that?” he asked instead.
> 
> Tony picked up the red Swiss Army knife and began fiddling with it before holding it up to him. “What this?” questioned Tony. “Just a little something I started carrying with me after I got captured by Obie’s men, no big deal,” he explained. “You never know, it might come in handy one day; can’t always count on the suit.” Tony stopped staring at it and turned to look at him again with a quick twitch from the corners of his mouth.
> 
> He understood how that experience had affected Tony and also knew that he was still haunted by memories of it; he realised awhile ago that Tony was still afraid that it could happen again. He changed the subject by asking, “Umm...so why exactly are you waving it at me?”
> 
> “‘Cause a weapon can’t be all bad,” Tony replied, standing up and brushing his hand over the bark of the tree. “Here, perfect spot,” he said, gesturing for Steve to get to his feet too and he did. Tony began carving deep into the wood which made him worry till Tony started putting his thoughts into words again. “We’re good, you and I? We have fun, we laugh, and...you know me. We didn’t always get along, that I know, and now I can’t see why. This has been the best year I’ve ever had. Honestly, I’ve never been happier, Steve. My life sucked and basically had no meaning before you came along. You’re my partner and my best friend. I wouldn’t know what to do if I lost you,” Tony confessed before blowing sawdust out off the way and burrowing the tip of the knife deep into the bark once more.
> 
> “I don’t usually do this, just in case you were wondering. Hell...I feel kinda stupid now and that never happens, and I owe it all to you. You changed me, Cap, and I like the new me. I’m starting to sound like a cheesy line out of a rom-com, aren’t I?” continued Tony, huffing a laugh and Steve could have avowed he saw him blush. “I don’t think I can ever imagine life without you anymore. You are the only person that could make me believe in myself and stop me from drinking, which is a big deal in my book. I found a reason for me to change who I used to be. I know now what the phrase ‘money can’t buy happiness’ means and that’s merely because you showed me. You never cared that I was a broken man, you were always there. You’re basically my other half I never knew I was missing.”
> 
> When Tony was finished with his project, he placed the knife safely away, and moved aside for Steve to gawk at, because that was exactly what he did. Tony wasn't really a romantic but he could be when he wanted to. Tony searched him for signs of disapproval and was exceptionally pleased with what he discovered instead. “I love you, Steve. I don’t say it much, but I hope you know I really do. I don’t need or want anything else, only you. I’m not perfect, and the universe knows you could be with someone better; someone who deserves you, but if you let me, I promise to do whatever it takes to be that person. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way you make me. So, Steven Rogers,” Tony began, getting down on one knee, “will you, officially, make me the happiest and luckiest man alive, by doing me the honour of being my husband?” Tony pulled out a velvet box from his jacket and bared its content.
> 
> Naturally he wasn’t expecting a solitaire, and frankly, he wasn’t expecting anything, especially not this, but in that instant, he couldn’t do anything except wonder how the unpretentious silver band was the most breathtakingly beautiful thing he has ever laid his eyes on. “Marry me?” 
> 
> He gawped at Tony, then at the ring and eventually back to the man kneeling before him. There were definitely no words to describe what he was feeling. If he really had to, he would have to say a touch of tremendous elation, extreme shock and overwhelming happiness. He certainly didn’t believe it could be possible. He pulled Tony to his feet and kissed him tenderly, long and hard. He never wanted to ever release those warm, soft lips from his. He had only heard stories about moments like these and living it was undeniably something else. When he finally pried them apart, beaming at the man that was going to be part of his life forever, resting his forehead against Tony’s and staring profoundly into his brown eyes, he said the effortless yet most important word their entire existence.

       He brushed the tips of his fingers against the ‘TONY + STEVE’ carved into the tree and the three little words below it, ‘HE SAID YES’, faded along the years, and used the back of his other hand to wipe his sodden face before taking his beers and slowly making his way to the fringe of the cliff. He had thought about it, taking his own life, and now he did again. Peace came to mind, standing there and looking over the edge, but then what would Tony think of him if he actually did?

       He could hear his love’s voice echoing softly in his ears, telling him that it was alright; he would be with him if he did, that they would be together again, but he knew that the voice in his head couldn’t really be Tony. The man had spent his whole life trying to save people and make up for the wrong he had done; he had self-respect and an appreciation for life. If he killed himself in Tony’s name, it would be the biggest insult his husband could ever receive.

> “H...hey! Tony! What in the world are you..?” he asked, dumbfounded, when Tony suddenly dashed behind him and scooped him up. Tony was in his full Iron Man suit, only missing his helmet; not allowing Tony to hide the cheeky grin plastered on his visage. Before he knew it, he was had his arms wrapped around Tony’s neck and was holding on for dear life as they rose high into the firmament. He never minded flying but was sure he didn’t like soaring through the skies feeling exposed and unprotected. He had agreed to a date and this was certainly not what he had expected!
> 
> “Cap, open your eyes. Its fine, I’ve got you,” Tony said calmly albeit he sensed a hit of amusement in his voice. He didn’t even realise he had his eyes shut; he took a deep breath and forced them open. He wouldn’t, under any circumstances, regret doing so; he saw a whole new side to the city he has been living in all his life. It was lit up marvellously in the night and he found himself basking in its magnificence. “I thought you’d like it,” Tony whispered in his ear; he had almost forgotten he was floating dangerously far above the ground and reminded himself not to glance downwards, finding himself looking intently at Tony instead.
> 
> “I love it. It’s beautiful, Tony I...thank you,” he said, eyes wondering leisurely across the phizog of the man he was clinging on to, and eventually landing a tad too low to be comfortable with. He wanted to turn away but Tony’s luscious lips were inviting, calling out to him like a drug. He felt a wave of heat rush to his face and knew that he absolutely needed to look away but Tony smirked and caught up, snagging Steve’s lips in his.
> 
> He had never been kissed like this before; it was passionate and the way their mouths just fitted together like puzzle pieces, it was easy, and so much better than he had imagined. All the doubts and fears he had earlier, seemed to have been erased completely, and it was then that he realised, this was the beginning to something incredible.

       He turned away and sighed, taking a seat on a large rugged rock behind him. He could see the whole of New York from there. It was astounding with the sunlight reflecting off the structures dazzlingly, and he just sat there, mindlessly fumbling with the ring that hung on a chain around his neck and the one that encircled his finger. His hope for better days, like all those buildings before him, could scrape the skies. He thought he would try to leave the world behind till his head was clear enough to draw himself a new skyline. He rarely drank, it wasn’t like he could get drunk anyway, but he guessed he could make an exception for a day. He opened the can he was holding and was greeted by a hiss before he made an imaginary toast to the blue, saying, “Happy tenth anniversary, Tony,” and then taking a long chug.

       He hadn’t realised how late it was till he noticed the setting sun. He had wondered all the way to his old apartment in the hinterlands of Brooklyn; standing in the street with his bike mounted next to him, unconsciously watching its residents pass-by. The block looked like nobody had put a coat of paint on anything since he had left for the war. It was exactly as he had remembered.

       One thing about coming out of a sixty-year deep freeze was that it diminished the number of people he could to turn to when he needed to figure something out and couldn’t do it on his own. He turned a corner, pulling his bike with him before resting it against the red brick wall of the hospital he had found himself at. As he signed in at the visitors’ desk and he guessed the reason he was here was before him.

       All he had left from his past was the thread that kept Bucky fighting his cancer. When that broke, the last link to his life before would be gone. He had used to drop by at least once a week when his condition had worsened but he hadn’t been by in the last six months. He hoped Bucky would understand why that was so.

       The door to Bucky’s room was opened, which meant he was probably awake. Knowing he was a good friend of Captain America’s, the nursing staff took outrageously fine care of him. They did everything but cure him. To think that cancer was one of the things people should have solved while he was frozen. In this case though, age was also a matter, but due to Bucky’s previous, vigorous assassin training as the Winter Soldier, years back when he was still solidified in ice, the process was slowed down. Unfortunately, natural causes had finally got to him.

       He would never have to worry about that though, sickness and aging; the serum prevented it. It wasn’t that he was totally immune to disease; if the virus originated from alien sources, as he and the team were so often exposed to, he could get infected. He wasn’t immortal either; a single shot to the head would do him in in an instant. Sometimes he wished he still had that part of him that was normal; to be able to grow old with the one he loved, not that that mattered anymore.

> “What will you do when I’m gone?” Tony asked one evening as they watched Peter on the swings. The playground was filled with soccer-moms and screaming children; it was nice to be a part of the norm in society once in a while.
> 
> “What do you mean?” he turned to face Tony and placed a hand on his knee. He was concerned and the question definitely raised a lot of red flags.
> 
> “I’m getting older everyday and there you are, same as always,” Tony said, monotonously, still focused on their son, expressionless.
> 
> He knew the matter would rise one day or another, but he had hoped he could have avoided it at least a little while longer. He hadn’t thought of anything to counter it yet. He never wanted to think about it. As far as he knew, he was going to be with Tony forever, and they would watch Peter grow and rock their grandchildren on their front porch. “Tony, I...”
> 
> “It’s alright, Steve. I know.” Tony smiled at him and the crinkle in the corners of his eyes made him want to just hold his husband tight and not let go. “Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself, and Pete; that you’ll both live long, happy lives.”  
> 
> In that instant, Peter waved at them from the top of the slide and he made a vow to himself that he would cherish whatever time left the universe allowed them to have together. “I promise.”

       He tapped on the door. “Hey, Buck,” he said but there was no answer. “It’s Steve.” Two steps into the room, he was sure Bucky was dead. He was laid on his back, mouth open, with tubes and needles everywhere, but the monitor next to the small, aluminium framed bed ticked off a steady heartbeat. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and settled in the chair beside it.

       “Ah, buddy,” he said softly. He didn’t want to wake him but he couldn’t stop himself from talking. He had to talk, even if it was just to hear himself thinking things through. “I need you on your game, pal. You need to tell me what move is next because I can’t see it anymore,” he continued. “Sorry I haven’t visited in awhile. It’s been a tough couple of months. It’s still no excuse. I should have been here sooner. They didn’t tell me you’ve gotten worse. I don’t know if you’ve heard but...my husband...yeah, after ten years you wouldn’t think I’d still find that odd too.” He smiled and wrapped his hand around Bucky’s bionic one. “The person you were _ever so fond off;_ he’s gone, Bucky.”

       Bucky snorted and shifted a little in the bed. He waited to see if he would wake up, but then Bucky’s breathing settled back to normal. He didn’t look like he had got much left. Listening to the shallow, wheezing breath of his oldest friend, his eyes started to sting. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing another person he loved. “You want tactics and strategy, bad guys taken out and objectives accomplished, I’m the guy, but what do you do, Buck? What do you do when the only person that kept you together isn’t here anymore? What will you do if your son won’t even look at you?”

       The monitor chirped, and he heard a whir and a click as one of Bucky’s machines dispensed his medications. For awhile, he couldn’t think of what else to say, and then it came to him. “Tash says Peter’s accepted that Tony’s not coming back. I don’t see how that can be when I haven’t, Buck. I’ve refused to believe what a four year old can so plainly see. Instead, I’ve chosen a path I don’t want to go _down_.” He closed his eyes and rested his elbows on his thighs, burying his face in the sides of his arms with both hands clasping Bucky’s.

       “It’s about time I move on too. Tony’s gone. It’s time to accept that.” He lifted his head to see if Bucky had anything to say and when he didn’t, he tightened his grip on his hand. “But how am I going to, Bucky? We didn’t end things on the best of terms. You know what was the last thing I said to him? I told him to leave and never come _back_ ,” he confessed, voice faltering.

       “I’ve never told anyone. Avoiding it doesn’t erase the guilt that’s eating me up a little more every day. I’m never going to see him again. I’ll never get to tell him just how much _I love him_ and that he’s the _greatest person_ I’ve ever known; the pout he’d give me because he wouldn’t believe my words _to be true_...he’s dead, Bucky...Tony... _Tony’s dead_...”

       He didn’t know how long he was sitting there, soaking up the sheets, before he decided it was time to head home. “I’ve gotta go, bud, it’s late. Peter will be wondering where I am,” he said hoarsely as he got up to leave; clearing his eyes before taking a glance back at the small room. “Don’t you go dying on me too, Bucky.”

> “What is it, Tony?  Come on, this is getting ridiculous. We can barely walk!” he said as Tony led him somewhere, covering his eyes. He could see various figures and make out certain shapes through the gaps in Tony’s fingers but didn’t seem to recognise the place. They were having a tough time navigating through the streets since Tony had insisted that he kept his eyes closed, and had wanted to do it himself because he didn’t trust that Steve would. Being a fair amount shorter than he was, Tony had to tip-toe while directing him a block or so to what exactly it was Tony had wanted to surprise him with. What would have usually taken them a couple of minutes, stretched on for what felt like hours or possibly days.
> 
> “Patience is virtue, Steve. Didn’t your mother ever teach you that?” Tony was laughing now and he could tell that he was very excited. “Anyway, no need for anymore of your complaining ‘cause...ta daa!” Tony finally removed his hands from Steve’s face and he was presented with a stunning, pristine mansion with a red front door. The only thing missing from the American dream home would have been the white picket fence. It was probably built in the 50s, but there were modern touches to it; he was guessing from courtesy of Tony’s handiwork. “What do you think?” Tony asked when he remained silent in awe.
> 
> “It’s magnificent; really something else. I haven’t seen a house like this one in years. Well, since I woke up at least,” he said, finding himself heading towards the porch, eyes glancing over every inch of the place, as the large iron front gates were left wide open. “New project of yours?”
> 
> “Something like that,” Tony said as he walked up to the front door and produced an old brass key from his pocket. “I haven’t wired up JARVIS to the mainframe yet so this would have to do.” He waved the key at him before inserting it into the lock and opening the door. He followed Tony in and just as he thought it couldn’t get any better; it was even more beautiful on the inside.
> 
> There wasn’t any furniture yet so the manor looked huge. He could swear that it was bigger on the inside than out. The skylight lit the main hall perfectly and the way it fell, highlighting the corners of the other rooms added warmth to it. The prime feature would have been the grand arched staircase right at the end and the dust covered fireplace. “So, you gonna tell me what we’re doing here?”
> 
> “Well,” Tony began, walking towards him. “I think this would be a great place to live; so, what do you think about moving in?” Tony wrapped his arms around his waist and he could feel him smile against his back. “It’d be ours and ours alone.”
> 
> “What about the tower then? We can’t just leave everyone,” he questioned, not really knowing how to react to the news. A part of him, the newlywed, wanted to scream ‘yes’ and start packing but the other part of him, the leader of the Avengers, had doubts, worrying about team morale and the strain it would cause on the effectiveness of the group when heading out for missions.
> 
> Tony released him and took a step back and he could tell that his husband was a little upset, but he managed to casually reply, “They’ll be fine without us. They are all superheroes after all; if you’ve noticed. We’ll still be receiving status reports and whatever else necessary, only now, we get to do it in the comfort of our own home.”
> 
> Home. He liked the sound of that; full of love and family. Something he and Tony could share together. He could almost smell the roaring fire and maybe even hear the pitter-patter of small feet against the floorboards; not that he was going to scare Tony with that fantasy anytime soon. He was falling in love with the place already. He had to admit that it was a dream of his to live in a house like this one. For once, he could do something for himself instead and not worry about anyone else. “We could use some privacy,” he said, teasingly and softly into Tony’s ear. “I guess living here wouldn’t be too bad.” He started leaving a trail of kisses along Tony’s neck, and Tony had his eyes closed, leaning into every one of them. It was his way of thanking his husband for the wonderful surprise, knowing he understood. He was enjoying it already. They would have never been able to do this in the hall back at the tower as they were constantly watched by multiple prying eyes and shot with sarcastic comments.
> 
> “Wanna see our bedroom?” Tony asked, drowsily.
> 
> “Yes, please,” he replied, already being pulled up the stairs.

       The surrounding streets were empty and mansion was in total darkness when he arrived home; it felt serene. The only source of light emerged from the television in the living room where he found all three of them on the couch. Peter was sleeping on Clint’s lap; he was in a different, clean pair of pyjamas from the morning and had probably already taken a bath. Natasha was resting against her fiancé’s shoulder. Both the adults were fast asleep too. They looked almost too cosy and he felt uneasy to have to wake them. He was surprised that they hadn’t heard him come in; it must have been an eventful day for them to be so worn out.

       He began wondering what they did the whole time he was gone. He hoped they enjoyed themselves and wished he hadn’t spent the day moping around. The day could have been better. They could have been out celebrating his and Tony’s tin year together. Although he wasn’t around anymore, Tony would have liked that; he had always loved a good party.

> He never knew that being with Tony Stark had meant lots of fancy parties with expensive food and rich company. Okay, he had expected something; it was Tony Stark he was with after all, but a festivity every other weekend was above him. He definitely had not known that the wealthy could be so dull and terrible conversationalists.
> 
> He had gotten used to the flashy limos they rode in to get to galas and fundraisers; although, Tony preferred to drive unless he lost a row with either Pepper or Happy, leaving him with an hour’s drive to their destination having to hear Tony’s side of the argument as to why testing out his ‘babies’ on the road was so important. He had also learned to appreciate being dressed by either Tony or one of his many tailors. It saved him a lot of time figuring out what to wear to these things and he agreed that he looked a lot better in whatever they chose for him then what he would have picked out himself anyway.
> 
> The one thing he despised most, when at large gatherings, was watching Tony move through the multitude of people. He blended in nicely but he knew Tony wasn’t being himself. The way he so easily lied his way in and out of something, or when he laughed, Steve knew it wasn’t real. He knew Tony better than anyone even before they became romantically involved and he hated seeing Tony that way. It was the Tony that the world knew; that the media loved writing about. It was the Tony that made weapons for a living, drank the bars dry, and brought home a different woman every night; a Tony that was lost and miserable, and didn’t know why or how to stop feeling that way. It pained him even more knowing that Tony himself loathed that person, but he still had a role to play and unfortunately, that was it.
> 
> Sometimes he feared that he might lose Tony to his past where Steve clearly didn’t belong; but when Tony glanced back and scanned through the crowd to meet his gaze, and Steve would watch the corners of his mouth twitch before disappearing through the masses again, he knew that everything would be alright.

       He walked over to the leather couch and lifted Peter off Clint. Peter squirmed and protested drowsily in his arms but he eventually settled by wrapping his arms around his father’s neck and was fast asleep again. The movement and shift in weight caused both Clint and Natasha to jump off the sofa with the Black Widow ready to go into battle mode and Hawkeye trying to reach for his phantom bow and arrows. “Wow, I’m guessing you two really aren’t morning people either,” he whispered and smiled at how in sync they both were.

       “Ah yea, hey dude, you’re back. Kinda spooked us there,” Clint huffed a laugh and Natasha stood quietly by his side, a little embarrassed but a smile slowly forming on her face. “What time is it?”

       “It’s late; quarter to twelve. Sorry ‘bout being gone the whole day. I got caught up with...stuff,” he apologized before suggesting, “You’re both more than welcomed to stay the night.”

       Clint seemed like he was about to accept the offer but eventually declined after sharing a quick look with Natasha, saying, “Nah, it’s okay, man, we’ll make it home in one piece. Thanks,” while Natasha gave him a sleepy smile.

       “I should be thanking you for watching, Peter,” he said, gently rubbing his son’s back.

       “No prob, Peter’s an awesome kid,” Clint replied, grabbing his keys off the counter and was making his way to the foyer.

       As they were walking towards the front door, Natasha paused to give him and Peter a kiss on the cheek. She whispered, “You know you can call us anytime, right?” into his ear. She then cupped his face in one of her hands and gave him a warm, knowing look. Of course she knew what today was, he thought silently, nodding his head slightly. She gave Peter another kiss and wished them both goodnights before she joined Clint on the patio.  

       He watched, with Peter sound asleep against his shoulder, as the ‘Bartons’ headed into their midnight blue Hummer, waved their final goodbyes, and drove off the driveway; JARVIS closing the gates behind them.

       Once back inside, he went up the stairs as quietly as he could and placed Peter on his bed, tucking him in gently. He was afraid the child would be up the whole night if he accidently woke him. Peter always had trouble sleeping and he didn’t want to have to spend the whole night coaxing him back to dreamland. Normally he wouldn’t mind because as a father, he knew that was his duty, but tonight, he was too tired to have to deal with it, and he still needed to wash up before crashing.

       As he feared, Peter called out just as he was about to leave the room. Although he had really wanted too, he knew he couldn’t ignore Peter’s groggy cries for his ‘Daddy’ for long. He thought and hoped it would be different this time, given how the morning had surprised him, but he found himself crouched by the toddler as usual, and asked calmly, managing a grin, “Yes, Peter?”

       “Papa?” Peter rubbed his eyes and looked as his father but there was something else in his expression that caught Steve off guard. He was about to question him if he was feeling alright, but Peter beat him to it. “Papa? Are you okay?”

       He felt his heart grow heavy and smile waver in an instant. His son was worried about him when it should be the other way around. Peter should not have to be concerned about anything. He should be out playing with kids his age and be mischievous, getting himself into trouble. He should be the one worrying about his four year old; he realised, not once did he think of Peter the whole time he was out. What if something had happened to him too?

       Peter would have lost his parents again like when he was a baby; an orphan. He hadn’t even said goodbye to him or given him a hug when he left in the morning. Tony did the same the day he walked out and never returned; he never got to tell Peter how much he loved him and now Peter would never know. Peter must have been scared, and knowing his son, Peter wouldn’t have asked his aunt and uncle where his ‘Papa’ was or when he was coming back if he sensed that it was a grownup thing. He was going to spend the rest of his life making it up to him for his mistakes. Tony’s death took a toll on him but he didn’t think that it would affect Peter even more.

> “What’s his story?” he asked the social worker as they were walking along the halls of the nursery. They were currently paused at a cot that was separated from the rest. The infant had an oxygen mask on and looked a lot smaller than he should be.
> 
> “This is Peter. He was rescued from a car crash that killed both his parents,” she replied. “The poor child is still suffering from the aftermath but the doctors say he will fully recover.”
> 
> Tony took a step forward and placed a hand on the edge of the wooden crib. “Does he have any other family?” he asked.
> 
> “Unfortunately no and no foster home would take him,” the social worker answered, sighing. “He needs people in his life who would love him and take care of him; now more than ever. The doctors say it would help with the healing process.”
> 
> Tony took another look at the kid before turning to him, saying nothing other than the words, “He’s the one.”

       He dropped a kiss on Peter’s forehead and ruffled his hair. “Yea, Papa’s okay. I’m so sorry for leaving you today. Papa had things to take care of.” It sounded like an excuse, but who was he kidding, it was. “Now go back to sleep. We can go to the park tomorrow and throw the ball around a little. You’ll like that, won’t you?”

       Peter smiled and closed his eyes, snuggling his bear. “Yes, Papa,” he replied with a yawn.

       “Alright then, you have a goodnight’s sleep. See ya in the morning, buddy,” he said, standing up but Peter stopped him again by slipping his tiny hand into Steve’s, making him turn to his son once more.

       “Goodnight, Papa,” Peter said looking at him before glancing at the ceiling, saying, and surprising his father, “Goodnight Daddy. Have fun with Mufasa. We miss you.” He stayed till the child was fast asleep before making his way back to his room, wiping away the constant stream of tears down his face that was obstructing his view. His son had reached acceptance; it was about time he did too. 


End file.
